


Axiomatic

by Kawaiibooker



Series: Love and Other Revolutions [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: (it's Killer POV), Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Killer tops because of course he does, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Post-Wano Arc (One Piece), Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: ax·i·om·at·ic(adj.)Self-evident; unquestionable.*The best part of battle is the afterparty.
Relationships: Eustass Kid/Killer
Series: Love and Other Revolutions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793440
Comments: 18
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Wano setting. Spoilers for all of Wano, including the newest manga chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by [Pitte](https://twitter.com/PPitteArt).
> 
> Content warning for mentions of Body Dysmorphia/BDD.

“What do you think?”

Lipstick glides over thin lips, the wax malleable and smooth as it leaves a coat of rusty red in its wake. Killer makes sure it’s perfectly even before he glances elsewhere. In the mirror, Kidd’s face is all scowled impatience.

One last run-down – eyeliner, mascara, lipstick: done, done and done – then Killer grabs the mask waiting for him. “Alright, let me see.”

Their eyes meet and Killer sighs. Metal over skin-and-bone, Kidd’s arms are crossed; his shaved brows push together further. As if Killer doesn’t indulge his every whim by the regular.

“I’m _looking_. Show me again.”

Kidd grumbles, “Watch.” He opens his arms, reveals an unbuttoned shirt tucked into his favorite patterned pants, glinting gold over black under a double-belted cinch at the waist. So far, so very Kidd.

No, the point of discussion is the frankly _massive_ coat slung across his neck: Nice soft-looking suede on the outside and glossy-grey fur on the inside, it hugs Kidd’s shoulders in all the right places to then cascade down his back in a display of near-ridiculous opulence.

Extravagant, over-the-top, flashy. It’s hard to tell which type of animal had to die for this. There must be a lot less of ‘em now, with this monstrosity in the world.

Kidd is swiveling it back and forth with critical glances to the mirror, the coat _wooshing_ with the motions. Killer takes in the fluid glide of fur over Kidd’s exposed chest, the contrast of impeccable couture against jagged scars. Loses himself for a moment or two imagining how it would feel like to run his hands over both.

An appreciative hum. In Killer’s educated opinion, Kidd looks damn near sinful.

“Yeah?”, Kidd asks and Killer nods. “Yeah. Heh, told ya the detour’s worth it.”

Perhaps it was, although sifting through Onigashima’s treasury whilst bleeding all over heaps of shiny expensive everything might’ve been a case of skewed priorities. There’s no need to talk about what-could-have-beens, though – they’re here, they’re _rich_ and they’re long overdue at Strawhat’s banquet.

Killer’s practically done, tight jeans under a shirt that’s done up to the third button and left to flare open otherwise. It’s not his old favorite (that one stopped fitting him a good year ago) but similar enough, patterned in geometric black-and-white shapes. Definitely one of his nicer ones, not that anyone will care one way or the other where they’re going.

It’s… been a while since it’s been anyone other than them and their crew. Pirates are pirates, allied or no; Killer eyes the scythes neatly stored next to the bed.

Kidd is touching up his lips one last time, the same shade as Killer’s. “Bring ‘em. That Roronoa guy keeps throwing you weird looks and I’m not allowed to kill him.”

 _Yet_ goes implied. Killer isn’t wearing his mask and so he doesn’t roll his eyes. “He’s got every reason to”, he reminds his captain, focusing on the heavy clasps of his weapons to keep the memories at bay. The red mark on his chest stings, stuck in the limbo between a healing wound and a fresh scar for a few days still.

A testament to his failure that Killer won’t hide. If Zoro hadn’t stopped him that day his hands would be stained with blood that cannot be washed off, not entirely.

Kidd’s eyes are on him, dark. “I don’t care.”

Resentful as always. Killer reaches for him, digs his fingers into the fluffy lining of that coat and oh, the fur _is_ as soft as it looks. “I do, though.” A firm tug, one Kidd follows until Killer can kiss him, careful not to smudge anything.

“No killing of allies today, ‘kay? We just came back from a war. The crew’s tired. _I’m_ tired.”

“Mh” is all Kidd has to say to that, a grumpy huff against Killer’s lips more than anything. Kidd _does_ give him a proper kiss, however, and Killer knows he won this one.

All he can ask of Kidd is to try, anyways – with two equally hot-headed captains and a whole host of morons around to rile him up, there’s bound to be blood eventually. The trick is to make sure everyone’s drunk enough not to take it too personally.

A pinch to his ass tells Killer he was caught scheming. Kidd smirks, tells him, “We’re getting wasted tonight”, all triumphant like it’s the best idea he’s had all week, and Killer doesn’t miss the emphasis on _we_.

“Two Emperors down! Strawhat better bring the good stuff or this alliance is _over_.”

Killer groans, “ _Kidd_ ”, but he’s smiling, too. Before he can be called out on it, Killer shoves his mask into Kidd’s hands, metal clanking against metal. “Make yourself useful. We’re late.”

Kidd’s laugh is more of a cackle than anything else – “Yes, darling”, said in that sarcastic lilt Killer knows all too well – yet Kidd complies. His hands, organic or otherwise, handle the mask they’ve built with care and precision. Soon, Killer’s vision is narrowed down to dots, the audio filter of his helmet kicking in soon after.

Killer rolls his neck and hums, satisfied. “Ready?”

Kidd throws a final look at himself in the mirror, grinning into the collar of his new coat.

“Hell yeah. Let’s go.”

*

The banquet is a sprawling, messy affair that swallows the entirety of the ramshackle village the Strawhats picked as their home in Wano Country.

From the moment the Kidd Pirates get there they are surrounded. Wherever Killer's eyes roam there are knots of people drinking, eating, laughing and crying, sometimes simultaneously – there, at the heart of it all where the crowd is thickest, burns the largest bonfire Killer has seen in a while, perhaps ever. Smiling faces all around and for once, it doesn’t make Killer’s stomach drop because they’re _genuine._

Survivors of SMILE just like him, caught in the rush of real emotions for the first time in who knows how long. Killer has a pretty good idea how that feels like.

Next to him, Kidd is so tense he’s stalking, gaze intense, oozing Haki to keep people away; Wire’s hand is clenched to bloodlessness around his trident while Heat exhales a bit of smoke with every breath and yeah, Killer gets it. Can’t help it himself, either, scythes kept close to his sides to make sure they’re _there_.

The thing is: They don’t do these kinds of things. Parties, yes, many and often but not like this. Killer can count on one hand the amount of times the population of any island was actually happy to see them, much less willing to send them off with one big feast.

Actually, he wouldn’t need to count at all because it simply never happens. 

The entire damn country is here, it seems, all breathing a collective sigh of relief so monumental the air itself carries their joy. For all that the Kidd Pirates were in this for revenge and glory, Killer can’t deny it’s rewarding to see a nation so ravaged by an Emperor’s greed do whatever they want for the first time in decades.

Even filtered through his mask it’s… a lot to take in at once.

Finally, a few familiar faces start popping up. Some of the samurai greet them with nods of their heads, overly formal like the locals tend to be; here and there they spot the distinctly branded yukata the members of Trafalgar’s crew are wearing and, rarer but all the more noticeable, those animal people Strawhat dragged along from _somewhere_.

Minks? Or something? Killer is inclined to say it doesn’t matter... if they didn’t have that habit of jumping on them out of fucking nowhere. Looking for bone-crushing hugs and wet-nosed kisses, of all things, and– Oh no, he did _not_ sign up for this.

Much less for whatever that group of cat minks are gearing up to, staring at the holes in his mask with eyes nearly swallowed by black, round pupils. Killer is absolutely, solidly convinced he doesn’t even want to know what that’s all about.

“Captain.”

And yeah, his tone is a little more alarmed than he truly means it to be. It gets Kidd’s attention, though – himself having fought off a dog mink enamored with his metal arm not too long ago – and he barks a laugh even when he ramps up his presence to an almost stifling degree.

“C’mon, I feel Strawhat up ahead.”

To nobody’s surprise, they find him smack dab in the middle of everything. Strawhat and his crew are _lounging_ around the bonfire, there’s no other way to describe it: All broad smiles and flushed faces amidst the chaos, completely in their element, and it’s hard to tell if it’s the closeness to the bonfire or the vaguely impressive amounts of empty bottles lying around already. They’re certainly boisterous enough for it to be the latter, even _Jinbei_.

And no, Killer hasn’t quite processed that turn of events yet. The strangeness of seeing someone of that caliber wheeze into his mug with laughter as his (new?) captain takes a disturbingly big bite out of an even bigger chunk of meat is… not helping things, in that regard.

 _What a bunch of weirdos._ In the safety of his mask, Killer allows himself a small smile.

From here the flames seem to reach for the sky, tinged in warm pinks and oranges by the sinking sun and there, very faintly, Killer can make out the first stars. He can’t remember ever seeing them, not with the factories running over night as well.

“Spikey!!”

Ah. Killer’s head turns with Kidd’s and it’s a good thing, too. There’s a stretched arm coming for his captain – Kidd bites out, “Nope, no, _Strawhat_ ”, red eyes going wide – and Killer manages to side-step it in the last possible second. One, twice it wraps around Kidd, fancy coat and all, and then the rubber _recoils_.

“Killer!”

 _Oh my_ , Killer thinks mildly as he watches him go. Behind him, half their crew is flabbergasted and the other half is in stitches. “Boss is gonna be in such a mood”, Heat says to Wire, and it just sends them into another fit of chuckles.

For Killer, finding a drink becomes his top priority. _So much for keeping things peaceful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. [Kidd looks so fucking good in this outfit I'm losing my gotdang mind](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d0ebc75e788c368d91004277f0478715/43e659ff30c48322-32/s500x750/9721a823aa9780d809ebe2129c40dfa5518c69ad.jpg). (I hate fur coats in RL but this is a fictional anime fur coat so I'm fine with it.)
> 
> As usual this is just a warm-up! Things are getting E-rated in the next one, just as a head's up :3c


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by [Pitte](https://twitter.com/PPitteArt).
> 
> The tags and rating have been updated! Enjoy c:
> 
> Additional warning for sex under the influence of alcohol (between two consenting adults).

Killer is drunk.

Technically he’s tipsy and on-his-way-to-drunk. There’s a bottle of sake in his hand, half-full or half-empty depending where his head is in a given moment. The straw between his lips is growing brittle, already frayed at the edge – he’s been toying with it rather than drinking for a while now, distracted by the feast running its course below.

With his ass firmly planted on the stone weight of one of the roofs – the inn’s, perhaps? Killer can’t recall why he got up here, much less which house it is – he’s got a view over all of Okobore Town, from where the outskirts are swallowed by the Wasteland to the pitiful square still lit by the bonfire’s embers. Whoever’s in charge of feeding the flames has obviously left their post or followed the siren song of free booze.

(They wouldn’t be the first to do so, the streets littered with those passed out or making out or both, somehow.)

It reminds Killer a little of home. Well, the place they used to call home, him and Kidd, a town so small it isn’t really worth considering it one. Nothing more than the scrapyard of the bustling capital right next door with the people to match: Too poor to live, too stubborn to die and so they got carried along, forgotten by history.

 _Same bullshit, different island_ , Killer muses via the wisdom of too much sake in his blood. _Different ocean altogether_ , and there’s no fondness in that.

Home isn’t a place for Killer but a feeling, the one he gets with full sails fluttering above and Kidd up front, hair wild in the wind.

Freedom’s a fickle thing, as quickly lost as it is gained with how complacent the masses tend to get. At sea it’s just them and their ship and their crew against the elements, life and death a matter of seeing the storm coming and having the guts to spit in its face.

Alone on that roof, Killer grins around the straw. That’s the shit worth living for, day after day after day.

Down there is Kidd, the red flash of his hair one Killer seeks out by sheer habit; his silhouette against the dying bonfire is imposing, that ridiculous coat hanging big and imperial off his shoulders. If he focuses, Killer could probably make out what he’s yelling about with… Strawhat’s navigator? Killer squints, infusing his sight with Haki where the dark and the holes in his mask fail him.

Yeah, that’s Nami. She says something, hands on expensive fur. She’s grinning, innocent and cunning all at once and _that’s why they call her a cat, huh?_

Killer considers cranking up the audio sensitivity on his helmet. Considers it, and tosses the thought right out the metaphorical window. Kidd’s a big boy, he can defend his precious coat from a thief. Nami, presumably, also knows what she’s getting into, poking the bear like that.

A long sip of sake later and Killer nods to himself. _A good, rational choice._

His bottle is decidedly past half-empty when Roronoa Zoro finds him. Killer is not surprised, has felt him wandering around for a while now – there are two bottles of sake in his hands, his gait utterly steady despite the rosy tinge to his cheeks.

A heavy drinker, Killer’s heard that. He polishes off his drink to gesture to one of Zoro’s.

“You’ve got good timing, Pirate Hunter.”

“Who says it’s for you?”, Zoro asks with a snort, and gives him the second bottle anyways. When he sits, he does so with the kind of controlled grace many of Wano’s people wield, that flawless rigidity speaking of a life of discipline.

The way he drinks is the exact opposite of that. _Interesting._

Killer concentrates on getting the straw through the narrow neck of the pitcher for a moment. The first sip proves it’s decent stuff; Killer’s mouth shapes itself around a pleased hum.

“You ever think about why the Marines call us what they do?”

It certainly makes Killer pause. Zoro doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to dabble in meaningless small talk – then again, what does Killer know? He turns his head to be able to see the look on Zoro’s face, watches the man nurse his sake with a pensive expression.

“‘Pirate Hunter’… Been a pirate longer than I was hunting ‘em. They could get the hint, y’know.”

They’re doing this, then. Pretending they weren’t at each other’s throats a mere week or two ago, like Zoro didn’t witness the side of Killer he loathes enough to hide it, always.

 _Fine._ Killer can roll with that. “Which would you prefer? ‘Demon of the East Blue’?”

Zoro laughs and it’s so easy for him. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard in a while. You’ve been snooping, huh?”

“Sure as fuck not going into an alliance blind”, says Killer and it’s a bit pointed, a bit of a warning. They came back from war just days ago but there’s room for blood when it comes to protecting their own.

“Mh. Wonder what that’s like.”

 _… Right._ The guy’s the right hand of Strawhat Luffy, after all.

They drink, and Killer watches his captain. “The Marines don’t know shit, anyways.” A low hum to his side, prompting. Agreeing, perhaps. “Incompetent bastards thought I was the one to look out for when we made ourselves known, back in South Blue.”

“So ‘Massacre Soldier’ is, what, a misunderstanding?”

That makes Killer chuckle, a low _ff ff ff_ sound. “Nah. Just that Kidd’s worse.”

“Ah.”

And it seems whatever else Zoro wants to add to that will have to wait. Even from afar Killer can feel it when Kidd’s eyes land on him, then Zoro. He sighs.

“Speak of the devil. You might wanna get out of here.”

The sake stops on its way to Zoro’s mouth. “Huh?”

“Just giving you a fair warning, ’s all. Kidd kinda hates your guts over the whole”, a vague gesture to his own chest, “thing. He likes to hold grudges.”

“… _Huh?_ ”

Killer shrugs. It’s too late anyways. “Here he comes.”

“Hey! You!”

It doesn’t matter if he’s tipsy or drunk or whatever: Wrangling Kidd is something Killer grew up doing, and he stares him down now as Kidd pulls himself towards them by the metal in Killer’s mask. Hands up, no hesitation – Killer catches Kidd by the scruff of his coat, an arm winding around Kidd’s waist with enough strength to crush a smaller man and barely enough to drag this particular fool away.

To his credit, Zoro stays exactly where he is, his face blooming into something strangely close to delight. “Hah! You weren’t kidding.”

“Never am”, Killer tells him. He’s wheezing a little with how hard Kidd is struggling against his grip. “Captain! Fucking hell, you promised.”

“Didn’t promise shit”, Kidd hisses, a distinct slur to his words that Killer recognizes without trouble. Wasted indeed. “Roronoa! Hands off my partner!”

Zoro laughs – _not the best of moves_ , Killer thinks with a wince – until his swords start vibrating. The smile drops real fast, then, becoming more of a tense smirk as he grabs onto that white katana of his.

“Oi, Spikey. Play nice now.”

All Kidd does is redouble his efforts, a whirlwind of bulging muscle in Killer’s arms and oh, _Killer has had it_. He presses his face against Kidd’s neck, his mouth only an inch or two away from his ear where they’re separated by Killer’s mask.

“Eustass _fucking_ Kidd”, he growls. “Stop it or I will end you.”

Wasted or not, a shudder goes through his partner. It always does when Killer says his name like that. Killer knows, whatever happens now:

They both have a long night ahead of them.

*

Frantic hands, gasps of breath, lipstick smeared beyond hope between one kiss and the next. A moan, quiet against the sounds of belts being undone.

Killer pushes Kidd, gaze on him and only him as he bounces a little on the bed – _their_ bed – and stares up at Killer. Eyes red as dusk, shining with the feral grin on his lips.

Killer gets on his knees for Kidd, always for him, and even if his blood wasn’t a-buzz with residue anger and alcohol, the way Kidd says “Fuck, Killer, _yes_ ” would get him there for sure. Trembling with it, Killer’s fingers hook into the waistband of Kidd’s pants to pull him closer, just where he wants him.

Kidd’s boots land on solid ground with a wooden _thud_. Legs splayed and Killer in the middle.

“You always have to make a mess”, Killer tells him, holds him down with one hand and the other working on his fly, “always so _reckless_ ”, and fuck, Kidd’s hard already. Hot and velvet-smooth in Killer’s palm and Killer forgets about chewing him out, for a moment.

It’s been weeks. Weeks since they’ve had time for this, hell, since Killer could even think about needing Kidd beyond the comfort his mere presence brings. With that infernal smile on Killer’s lips and his lungs clenching around the urge to laugh, nothing would’ve come of it anyways.

Killer leans over and breathes Kidd in, gives him a gentle kiss, over the delicate vein that throbs under his lips. “We’re not done”, he lets him know, voice having lost most of its edge; Kidd laughs, runs a hand through the messy bangs falling into Killer’s eyes.

“I sure hope not. C’mon, don’t–”

Whatever Killer isn’t supposed to do gets lost in a moan. Kidd is big in Killer’s mouth, big and so familiar and Killer feels Kidd’s fingers tighten where they make a desperate grab for his hair. It makes him groan around the cock sliding over his tongue, again as he swallows around him and Kidd’s thighs jolt under the weight pinning them down.

Kidd is loud, it’s who he is, but there’s something about the cut-off calls of Killer’s name that gets to him. That makes him throw any sense of taking things slow to the wind and suck cock like he means it, lids fluttering shut and painted lips wide as he takes his captain as far down as he can get him without choking.

It’s been a while and it feels _so good._

“Just like that, K. Keep goin’ just like that, don’t stop, _fuck–_ ”

And Killer feels his muscles shift under his hand, fingers splayed across Kidd’s abs straining with the need to move. Later, he might let him – can feel his own cock ache in too-tight jeans with the thought of Kidd holding him down and using him until he’s sated.

For now, he wants to get Kidd off, to hear his voice crack as it only does when he’s trembling on that edge.

It doesn’t take long at all, Killer’s lips and tongue and mouth dragging him there with no mercy for how breathless Kidd gets. “Kil”, Kidd gasps a warning; Killer hums, pulls off to catch the tip between his lips and jack him off the rest of the way, his hand easily gliding over spit-slick skin–

Kidd comes just like that, spilling into Killer’s mouth in twitching spurts. Given the garbage Kidd calls a diet he doesn’t taste the best but it’s _Kidd_ , it’s the man Killer has hardwired his brain to adore no matter what. Killer moans softly, reaches down to rub himself as Kidd’s fingers release their death grip and sort of… pet him instead.

“Fuck me, darling, next time I’m horny I’ll just piss you off on purpose.”

Wiping his mouth, Killer huffs, “You already do that”, follows the trail of red leading up to Kidd’s navel with his lips. “You’re insufferable.” Licks along the valleys of his ripped stomach to kiss away the sweat gathering in the scar bisecting his pecs. “And we’re not _done_.”

([Art by Eutt](https://twitter.com/Eutt1/status/1276632723688501255), posted with permission.)

Kidd rumbles a groan, pulls Killer into an open-mouthed kiss. The cold touch of metal worms its way under Killer’s shirt, in stark contrast to the need in Killer’s veins. It makes him shiver. “Kidd”, whispers Killer into that filthy kiss and it sounds like _please_ , like _more_.

“Mh, I got you. Take this off, baby, let me see you.”

A demanding tug to Killer’s jeans. Killer doesn’t think twice about it: It’s a relief to get rid of them, the fabric starting to cling to his legs with how hot he’s running, and Killer throws off his boots and shirt to places unknown while he’s at it. Rolls his shoulders where they’re still a bit stiff from carrying his scythes all day.

Kidd is watching him, a hand on his own cock even if it won’t get hard quite yet. Leaning back in a sea of fur with the effortless grace of a king and the look of arrogant expectation to match. Killer meets it as he ties his hair into a loose knot to get it somewhat out of the way, nodding at him.

“You too. Or do you want me to tear ‘em off of you?”

How dark Kidd’s eyes can get. Those _are_ his favorite pants though – Killer decides to be nice about it, unties Kidd’s boots enough for him to kick them off and save the rest of his clothes from an untimely demise.

Well, most of them. When Kidd makes to shrug off the coat Killer stops him. “Keep it.” His hands are on those suede-clad shoulders he’s been salivating over for hours now. “Keep the fur, Kidd”, an order he has no right to give, fingers clawed as they burrow between that softness and a heat that’s all Kidd.

It gets a look of genuine surprise out of Kidd. That, along with a pleased smile, closed-lipped. “Like it that much, do ya?”

Killer hums, “It’s soft”, kisses him, hides his own smile against demanding lips and the warning bite of teeth. “Makes me wanna fuck you on it. Got a problem with that?”

“Shit, you kidding? Let’s ruin it.”

As much as he’s an impudent little shit anywhere else, here, coming alive under Killer, Kidd is all eager compliance and greedy hands across Killer’s back; it shouldn’t be as addicting as it is, the notion that this – the needy panting in his ear, the flush high on Kidd’s cheeks and spilling down to his chest – is all Killer’s. Only his, nobody else’s.

Killer slows down, then. Once Kidd has scrambled for the slick they keep around and Killer’s got his hands warmed up, he takes his time. Pushes one of Kidd’s legs to the side, keeps him there while he stretches Kidd finger by finger and fuck, he’s _tight_ , clenching impatiently where Killer pushes in knuckle-deep.

“You’re killing me”, Kidd says, whines really, easily worked up by the twist of Killer’s fingers in him. Kidd’s prosthetic clings to Killer’s shoulder, his other hand in his own hair and _tugging_. “I’m ready, just – get in there!”

Killer is willing to rush a lot. Not this, though, never this.

“Shut up and relax”, he grumbles but he kisses Kidd, too, along the jagged edges of the scar down his face and his neck to suck on his clavicle. Kidd moans shamelessly, hips bucking into Killer’s curling fingers as he adds another.

Seeking that burning stretch before Killer can stop him. Killer curses, pulls out.

“Don’t complain later. You wanted this.”

Kidd tosses his head back into the covers and laughs. “ _Yesss._ Fuck me, c’mon.”

 _Smug asshole._ More slick, dripping from Killer’s cock to the fur below. The glide of his hand as he spreads it is already a lot, the sight of Kidd’s muscular neck bared and vulnerable hitting Killer somewhere instinctive, primal.

Deep down, Killer doesn’t want to wait either. He props himself up on one elbow, a mere inch or two separating their faces – and he stares at Kidd when he guides himself inside. At the way his mouth goes a little slack with it, the flare of his nose at the threadbare breath that follows.

“Good”, Killer tells him, catches Kidd’s gaze that’s barely past half-lidded. Licks over his bottom lip and kisses him, chaste as to not distract him from that first, long thrust.

“Doing so well, Kidd, almost there.”

Kidd feels sinful around him, warm and fluttering with tension that melts under the gentle thrusts Killer opens him up with. Leaning up to nip at Killer’s beard, his chin, and Killer indulges him, pushes his tongue into his mouth, slowly, languidly. Swallowing the soft noises Kidd makes as Killer hoists him up higher in his lap, Killer’s knees sliding apart in sleek fur.

He fucks him just like that, arms steady around Kidd and locking him in place when Killer finds a pace he can keep up for a while. Kidd fights it at first, he always does, not the kind of man to lie there and _take it_ – Killer nuzzles his jaw, “It’s okay, let go, let go”, words that he knows Kidd needs to hear, cocky as he may act. Kidd’s breath shudders out of him and he _does_ , finally relenting against the angle that makes him come undone each and every time.

Letting Killer sink in to the hilt and he groans, bites at Kidd’s throat and the pulse thundering there. “Good, so good for me.”

He rocks them both, hard enough to make Kidd shift against the fur. Kidd’s legs tighten where they’re tangled with Killer’s and he _whimpers_ , far enough out of his head not to care what he sounds like anymore. A sound that burns in Killer’s gut, his chest, mouth open and panting over Kidd’s skin as he does it again and again and again.

It’s Kidd’s fingers going for the bundle of Killer’s hair and _holding on_ ; the feeling of Kidd’s prosthetic drawing red, stinging lines down the length of Killer’s back. “Kidd”, Killer mutters, demands, “ _Kidd–_ ”

Kidd pulls at blonde strands coming loose, hard. “Whatever you want, K. Whatever you want, please–”

Voice gone, hoarse with the things Killer is doing to him.

Something in Killer snaps. The coat is torn open: Killer hears some of the seams pop in some places and _he doesn’t care_ , mind and soul focused on turning Kidd around and getting him on his hands and knees.

“Fuck”, Kidd half-gasps, half-moans, “ _fuck_ –”

Then Killer is inside him again, sweating skin slapping against sweating skin, and his lips trace the shivers racing up Kidd’s spine, the faint freckles dotting Kidd’s shoulders. _Kidd, Kidd, Kidd_ , his senses sharp as knives and hands roaming over what’s his, all his.

Whatever sounds Kidd is making, they are beyond words as he drops to his elbows and bends his back, pushing back into every hard shove of Killer’s hips. Killer moans, loud and breathless – feels Kidd clench around him and he gets a hand on Kidd’s cock, hard and leaking all over the coat, that fucking coat.

For the second time Kidd’s voice trembles, breaks apart on a high _ah!_ as Killer squeezes him tight, so tight. Kidd comes around that choked noise and Killer keeps fucking him, his own peak tantalizingly in reach, not quite–

Kidd goes utterly boneless but there’s determination in the sliver of his eyes, the rasp of “keep goin’, wanna feel you”, and Killer grabs onto his hair just to tilt his head to the side and _kiss him_.

Over and over Killer takes him, covering Kidd with his bulk and it melts his brain, how Kidd just lets him. How Killer doesn’t have to hold back with him, going as deep as he possibly can and barely coming up for air until he loses himself in it, in Kidd.

Shaking apart above him, head bowed against the nape of Kidd’s neck. Killer rolls the last few thrusts just to feel how slick Kidd is, how well he takes him like this.

After that: A head full of static, numb limbs, cooling sweat.

“Hey, Kil.”

It’s Kidd’s voice that guides him back, “You there?”, the gentle motions of Kidd’s hand brushing the tie out of Killer’s hair and letting it fall around them. Killer pushes into that touch, humming. So comfortable.

“Babe, I kinda need to breathe here.”

Killer laughs and it’s fine like that, low and muffled against Kidd’s neck. “That so?”, he mumbles but he gets the hint, pushing himself to the side with a tired groan.

“Mmh. My head’s all fuzzy.”

“Yeah?” A hand slaps down on Killer’s chest, rough knuckles rubbing over the half-healed wound there. “From drinking or from fucking me to oblivion?”

 _Ff ff ff_ , Killer breathes. He feels so light.

“Both, probably.”

Yeah, Killer is allowed a little smugness, too: Kidd’s hair is all mussed, lips red from kissing, neck covered in fresh, rose-colored bruises. Well used and looking like he doesn’t plan on moving even if the Punk’s cannons started firing around them.

Definitely worth slaying the coat over, Killer decides.

Still, when Killer takes Kidd’s hand in his, it’s all tenderness. Killer’s thumb brushes over Kidd’s knuckles, the same spot he presses a soft kiss to. Kidd lets him, squeezing back.

Their fingers entangle without really having to think about it, years of partnership in a single touch; and with the Punk's gentle sway all around them, they allow themselves to drift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah! It's been a while since I've written anything close to smut but these two deserve it. RIP in pieces fancy coat, you will be missed.
> 
> (And yes, I need more Zoro & Killer muscle swordsman friendship so that's where that came from hahaha)
> 
> I got The Last of Us II in the mail today + there's a thing for uni I gotta do, so I might be slow to start a new fic. There's one more thing I'd like to explore for these two before going back to the main series - let's see when I'll get around to writing it!
> 
> EDIT: [I found the meme that made me write this lmfao](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker/status/1276637160716873728)
> 
> EDIT 2: A big thank you to [Eutt](https://twitter.com/Eutt1?s=09) for illustrating this fic! Please check out her art, it's truly wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker)


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